


A Meeting of Heroes

by ArmageddonClan



Category: Agents of Metal - Lasse Öörni, Dragonforce (Band)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Hangover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 03:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15963611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmageddonClan/pseuds/ArmageddonClan
Summary: While playing the Stahlhölle festival, the Agents have a chance meeting with heroes of another kind. Meanwhile Ian is haunted by mysterious flashbacks and coincidences he cannot exactly place. Takes place after "The Stench of Purexo."





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to AgentUrsa for the initial spark for Agents of Metal fanfiction and for mission-critical suggestions! This is the unobfuscated version.
> 
> \- ArmageddonClan

"Run, my test subject  
Run through this hellish maze  
I hold the key to your life and death  
As the seconds tick away  
The imperative of your survival  
Compels you to complete!"

Ian thought his voice was raspy just in the right way. Or at least that was how it sounded from the monitor speakers; he could not be sure how it sounded through the PA to the audience.

Singing this way hurt his throat a bit, meaning he was not doing it exactly right, but he would manage to the end of the short set. The sound of his bass guitar was also distorted just right, thick but clear enough for fast-paced thrash. Every time his mouth touched the grille of the SM58, he received a tiny electric shock – nothing hazardous, but there was probably a slight difference in ground potential. It helped him focus. Or to imagine torture. Ian wasn't sure he could differentiate between the two.

The lyrics lifted just a bit from Agent Steel's Human Bullet, but were made more in reference to the hellish training he had to endure during his short re-integration to SCEPTRE. Probably no-one in the audience would catch the true meaning. Unless… there were actual SCEPTRE members present. In that case, it could go at least two ways. One: the song would actually help them break through their mental conditioning. Two: it would confirm their assigned target, and the kill order.

Right on cue of the verse's last word, Jo began her guitar solo over Erik's murderous thrash beat. The solo was a bit different each time; Ian thought there was a trace of old Deicide this time. Ian could not help smiling for just a moment. Still, probably no-one in the audience caught that, as he stepped away from the mic and began to headbang while playing the backing riff, hair obscuring most of his face.

To think they had reached this point was somewhat of a miracle. The three of them, playing an actual festival – the Stahlhölle - after all of their life-threatening adventures. The trio lineup was simply called AGENT. It seemed no-one else had the audacity to name themselves with just that one word, usually there was something tacked on.

The day had only started; justifiably they were on the smaller stage, and would only play for half an hour. Ian counted a crowd of about fifty. But even that was an achievement, so early in their "career." It could mean that people actually recognized that what they were doing came straight from the heart. On the flip side, the judgment for anything deemed false metal could be swift and vicious, but Ian had seen almost none of that on the internet so far – AGENT had a three-song demo out on Bandcamp.

Right after them, Ranger would begin dishing out their combat metal on the main stage. Ian knew them somewhat; they worshiped the eighties, the ridiculous echo in the vocals, the constant "circus" drum beat. And no bottom heads on the tom drums! Finally, the festival's first day would end with DragonForce as the headliner.

Now the song changed to a half-tempo feel, and Ian could let his right wrist relax. It also allowed his thoughts to wander some more. Sometimes these mental journeys were not pleasant. If not outright recollections of the violence he had committed, or endured at the hands of SCEPTRE, then the paranoid feeling that at some unforeseen point in the future he would be unmasked, revealed as an impostor. He was not really a musician, or their band's front man. Only a dissociating killer. And one who had never even finished his training. A booming voice would announce his crimes as he stood naked before the crowd … it could even happen right now.

Submerged in these thoughts, Ian almost missed a chord change. Jo shot him an odd glance; she knew something was going on. Ian knew he had to focus. There was still half of the set list to go. If necessary, he would use his trademark mental phrase, though right now it tied somewhat unpleasantly back to the exact doubts he was having.

…

"Not enough Satan. Otherwise a good day," Erik remarked from behind his pint. "I'd want to share the stage with Arckanum or something. 218!"

To Ian, anything to do with Azerate or 218 rather tied back to how SCEPTRE had misused the anti-cosmic ideology. The three numbers reminded him of typing them frantically into a keypad lock while enemies were closing in. But for Erik, it apparently still reminded more of the actual bands, mostly Swedish, who had spearheaded the movement. Good for him.

In any case the day was over, and it had been excellent. Including DragonForce's set. Their playing had been tight throughout, with little trace of "StudioForce." The new vocalist would not insult the audience as much as the original had done; that could be counted as a minus, or then not.

Now the three of them were back in the hotel's bar, the clock just past midnight. The gear was safely stashed away, and there were no more responsibilities, nothing to do but to enjoy the night. How drunk they would get, would only determine how many bands they would miss tomorrow. The flow of beer had been steady, but nothing excessive so far.

"Like it or not, most thrash is not conductive for Satan. At least combat thrash like us," Jo replied, also from behind her pint.

Ian knew Jo had a point. They had chosen the path of not having as much potential for KVLTishness, which would open some doors, and close others. The most KVLT bands would always prefer to play only among their own. But to try to fit into that scene while they did in fact not, would be a falsehood that would get quickly revealed. The rules of metal had to be observed.

Then Ian got an idea.

"You could have a side project. Blackened Satanic doom metal with Kim. Just drums and distorted bass."

Erik grunted indistinctly, possibly in approval. Sometimes it was impossible to know what he thought exactly, and also unwise to inquire further. The ultimate lineup would of course have been the four of them, since they all had apparently (Ian's memories were rather unclear) played a role in the latest incident.

But then, one just had to accept that everyone did not get along with everyone. Plus, Kim would have needed months of stringent practice to get up to speed for playing complex thrash metal at 200 BPM or more. No. It would not have been right to dictate a musical direction on her. She needed to go her own way, whatever that was.

Suddenly Ian was alerted by two figures entering the bar. He certainly recognized them. Holy shit. Herman and Sam, the guitarists of DragonForce. Ian had not known they were staying at this exact same place.

The guitarists strode directly to the bar and ordered shots. By now Jo and Erik had already noticed them as well.

"Shall we go meet them?" Ian asked. Normally he did not exactly crave the company of people he had never met before – and especially those who would be much more famous than he could ever hope to be – but this was a rare burst of energy, similar to how he had decided to initially approach Jo and the late band leader René.

Jo was instantly in. "Hell yeah."

"Flower metal. Bah. You go," Erik grunted in a low voice, and stayed at the table. It didn't take long for Ian to close the distance to the bar, with Jo following close behind.

For just a second, Ian imagined the most ridiculous and boastful way they could use to introduce themselves. "Hey. We're Agents of Metal. We kill using all weapons both known and unknown, and saved your asses from the planet Nibiru using a weaponized Ford Ka, while you didn't even know. But nice to meet you." But no. Tonight they were just the bassist / vocalist and lead guitarist of AGENT.

While Ian began the process of ordering another beer, not yet sure of what to say, Jo made Pac-Man noises with her mouth, while mimicing the act of dragging a guitar's tremolo bar over muted strings. Thus solving the problem of introductions.

Herman turned. "Hey. Someone knows our tricks."

Jo smiled back at him.

"You play guitar?" Herman asked.

"We're from AGENT. Played early this day."

Sam's gaze lit up. "So it's you. Proper MK-ULTRA thrash. We listened to your demo in the bus. Good shit."

Ian thought it sounded unbelievable that these above-mortals would listen to something that lowly. Maybe it was just an extremely lucky coincidence, or they had been severely bored.

This was probably the turning point for the night to become extraordinary.


	2. The Submerging

The passage of time was unclear. But it was clear that a large quantity of alcohol had been consumed in a relatively short amount of time. The table now housed the five of them. For the most part, Ian and Erik hung back, observing. And of course drinking.

"You know Fat Mr. Crab and Uli CC Rottweiler?" Jo asked the DragonForce guitarists.

"Uh..." Sam began.

"Yes. Of course. Born to Shred. It's like a Rocky training montage, but for guitar. Cool shit. But they faded away. Part three never appeared. Shame," Herman said, his voice sharp and inquisitive despite drinking just as heavily as any of them.

"Yeah, now I remember. Speed equals emotion," Sam joined in.

"Precisely. Now just make sure, that you don't fade away," Jo said.

The whole situation and subject matter made Ian flash back to something he almost remembered. He thought of how Jo was very much happy, very much in her element, and it probably got him visibly emotional.

This was confirmed by Erik staring at him in an odd way. For once, Ian decided to confront him.

"Imagine that Kim gets to meet Albert Witchfinder at last, and you witness it and are very happy for her."

"Hm. I strongly suspect Albert wouldn't be pleased to be reminded of his past projects. He wouldn't be pleased to meet any fan at all, I think. But I get what you're saying," Erik replied.

Then, it was time to drink again. Ian thought Jo had a distinct competitive angle to it, to attempt to drink the DragonForce duo under the table. It might not end well.

…

The night had progressed some more. The last Ian heard, Herman and Sam were contemplating the concept of fast and slow amps. If it was a slow amp, and you played fast enough, all the notes wouldn't come through. But now he met Jo at the bar.

"I remembered something. It was the mission with Blowfish. When I contacted you for some bullshit reason. And I thought of drinking properly once all the missions would be over. Seems it took this long to happen."

Ian thought Jo's voice was getting slurred, but nothing too critical yet. At least she was not yet being refused service. Ian had already long ago decided that he would stop keeping track of exactly how much of Jo's memory had recovered, but it was still interesting to note she had brought up this comparatively minor detail. Ian certainly remembered it himself, because it had involved Jo asking him to affect enemies psychically over a large distance.

"Let's drink the next round to her."

"But … you're not going to say to DragonForce that we had this very dear friend who fought with us and blew away heads with her Desert Eagle but was left on Nibiru and now let's toast to her?"

Thankfully the bartender was some distance away.

"Of course no. We have to keep some of it classified."

"Like always."

The low lighting of the bar reflected from Jo's eyes, and just for a moment they looked sad. Ian certainly got what she was saying; to some degree it would be the story of their life. To always obscure part of the truth.

For a brief instant he considered the metal rules and that they were probably being observed. By none the less than DragonForce. But what the hell, he thought and pulled Jo to a soft embrace. She felt unusually warm, perhaps due to the hyperactive drinking and discussion.

Jo was just a bit surprised. "Guess I looked like I needed that."

Ian thought – well, it was not correct to say that he'd never want Jo to feel sad. Because that was simply an impossibility. But that he'd always want to be there in that case. Yes. That had to be enough. He also flashed back to something else. He was sure that there existed a chord progression that described her thought patterns, that began in D minor and ended in D major. But he had no recollection of actually composing it at some point, and certainly Jo could not have composed it herself, as she didn't like any degree of self-promotion, or in most cases even being complimented.

…

Now the bar was no longer stationary. It was rotating, just slightly, but certainly a sign for Ian to only drink water from this point onward.

Erik was no longer there. He was probably in his own room already. Wise man.

But for Jo, Herman and Sam, the game was far from over. It would be a brutal test of endurance to the bitter end, Ian thought. Thankfully the last call couldn't be far any more.

"Thrash or black is the highest art," Sam said to no-one in particular. "Because then the tempo is the highest. Power metal is easier, because it's slower."

"You'd want to bring back Demoniac?" Herman asked.

"The Fire and the Wind!" Sam screeched in a high black metal voice.

Ian thought that Jo should have been overjoyed by this confession. That theirs was indeed the superior style. But she appeared to be sinking into a stupor now. Perhaps it had been a clever stratagem from the DragonForceans. It was possible that they had in fact been drinking less than first appeared. Probably nothing malicious, but just years of touring experience.

Ian bumped Jo's shoulder. "You still awake?"

Jo took some time to react, then was suddenly startled. "Sure. Thrash. Speed. Burn."

Herman began a drum beat against the table, approximating the Exciter song Jo had quoted.

"Still … it might be time to call it a night," Jo added, and made to stand up, somewhat uncoordinated.

"Was fun meeting you," Sam said as they made to leave. "Keep the flag of thrash high."

"We will," Ian replied.

With some difficulty, they reached the elevator. Ian thought that this was the exfiltration part of the mission, and almost laughed aloud. Thankfully there were no enemies in pursuit. They just had to reach their room.

The elevator pinged for the third floor, and the door opened. But before they could exit, Jo fell against Ian.

"Think my tires are busted. But no worries, there's a pillow underneath me..."

Ian shook his head. What the hell was she on about? Possibly this too tied to the short period of his life that he had little recollection of. But he couldn't bring himself to be actually annoyed. Instead he was sort of happy and sad for her at the same time. Meeting DragonForce was reason enough to get extraordinarily drunk. Or it was otherwise a "hard reset" she had needed. Only if it was to become a habit, was there reason to worry. Jo would probably get to know the deadwhite throne intimately later in the night or in the morning, but that couldn't be helped at this point.

Ian considered. Jo's words seemed to indicate that she didn't want to walk even one step more. Fair enough. Before even properly considering the risk, since he was not exactly sober himself, Ian scooped her up. As the distance was not great, he only needed a short burst of drunken energy. It was somewhat awkward going, as she was roughly equally tall, but carrying Jo around reminded Ian of Cave Story, the indie video game he had played during the delirious Innovativi3D assignment. Or alternatively, eighties / nineties action films. And mullets.

To get the room key card, Ian needed to put her down. "Provide sniper support for me while I open the door."

"What?"

It was exactly the point, to be incomprehensible in turn.


	3. The Recovery

Finally the amount of light from the outside was too great to ignore. Ian looked at the clock. 1 PM. Not too bad. The second day of Stahlhölle wouldn't even start for another hour, and there would only be minor and unknown bands at first.

Ian recognized a Nargaroth song playing at almost minimum volume. Herbstleyd, the full version. Jo was sitting awkwardly against the table on the opposite wall, cell phone close to her ear. The song was clearly an attempt to provide comfort. Ian remembered doing something similar himself, at least once.

"Morning," Ian said, aiming for minimum volume. His voice cracked. It was good there were no upcoming AGENT shows for the foreseeable future.

"Lesson learned. Don't try to outdrink DragonForce," Jo replied at last.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. The opportunity is unlikely to repeat."

Jo stood up, and the discomfort was visible on her face. The hammer had to be pounding hard.

"Anything I can do? Like order some greasy and unhealthy food?"

Jo shook her head. "Not really."

"Take your time. There's no hurry."

The second and final day of Stahlhölle would be headlined by the legendary Mayhem, starting at 10 PM if the schedule didn't lag. This time it could not be missed. But anything else was strictly speaking optional.

"I know."

"You could come back here. I'll sing to you."

Jo smiled faintly. "Your voice is shot."

Nevertheless, she climbed next to Ian, using caution to avoid aggravating the headache. A somewhat absurd but understandable thought passed through Ian's mind. Had the whole point of taking up vocal duties in AGENT been to be better able to serenade her? He was also sure he'd done this before, but not at all sure when. At some another time, all these mysteries needed to be solved. But not right now.

The song choice was fairly self-evident. Manowar's Master of the Wind. Heart of Steel would have probably been just as suitable, but the purpose was to let Jo know that each hangover had its end, and then things would turn for the better. Knowing his vocal range would be limited right now, Ian started very low, both in pitch and in volume.

He got through the first verse.

But then, he found himself thinking all too much. In a flash, he experienced a much stronger sense of deja-vu. This had in fact happened before. He had been in a place unknown, devoid of hope, and Jo had helped him through it. In return, he had sung her this exact song. But though the gesture was kind, the hope contained in the lyrics had been fictional, or even imposture. It had not been the key to his eventual return. His doubts returned; of whether he was only an impostor who would be revealed in time. And most severely, what if he had in fact earned nothing of what he had right now. That he did not actually deserve to have Jo at his side, considering how his repeated mistakes had actually caused her to lose much, practically forcing her to take part in the Area 51 raid, whose potential future consequences still hung like a Damocles sword over their heads. He thought to have been over this specific line of thinking, but apparently still wasn't.

Combined, these thoughts made it impossible for Ian to sustain his voice. He shut his eyes, fighting off the emotion.

"Fuck. I'm sorry," he managed to say.

The overload was so severe that Ian wasn't fully aware of his surroundings, but he could sense Jo shifting around on the bed until she was very close, hands on his shoulders.

"It's OK. I don't know what you're thinking exactly … but I can tell what I'm thinking. That even when I'm drinking and making Pac-Man noises to Herman of DragonForce, deep down I remember that I've taken part in killing and other stuff I should have had no business living through. And yet I'm here. And you're with me. And we have the chance to shape our lives to anything we want. That's both terrifying and the best thing ever."

Not in a million years Ian could have put it any better than that. And Jo had done it under severe hangover. To be reminded that she was scared too was of course heart-rending in its own way. But she wasn't doubting. Ian didn't want to doubt either. He made a promise to himself to keep those words in mind. He also knew he had to thank Jo somehow, and turned to face her.

To Ian's surprise, the look on her face was uncertain. As if she was unsure if she had been getting through to him, or was on the right track at all.

None of that should be necessary. At least not around him. Ian took gentle hold of her head and closed the distance, until their lips met.

"Thanks, Jo. You made my day. It really should have been the other way around."

Next Ian pulled the blanket up and some time passed with them just sitting there close by. At least being a pillow was something Ian couldn't fail even now. He kept observing Jo's face, looking for signs of the hangover subsiding.

Finally Ash's (formerly known as Kanwulf) voice shrieked a final sustained howl from the cell phone speaker as the blast beat ended. Then Herbstleyd's main riff began again, quietly at first, until the synth orchestration and the second guitar joined in.

This sparked a new insight; Ian thought of something Jo hadn't covered yet.

"Remember, what I said of keeping things classified? There's a handful of people, with whom there's no secrets to keep. Like Erik. Those, we need to keep close. Meanwhile some like DragonForce will never know what we've actually done. And it doesn't really matter. It's sort of a perpetual cover identity. But given enough time, it probably gets easier."

Jo seemed lost in thought for some seconds.

"Yeah. Exactly."

Now the only thing remaining was to (eventually) get ready for the second day of Stahlhölle. Judging from the brightness outside, it was going to be warm. But when Mayhem would play, it would already be darker. To get the proper atmosphere, hopefully also colder.


End file.
